


A Queen's Desire.

by LiterateGamer



Series: Persona One-Shots. [1]
Category: Persona 5
Genre: Fantasizing, Masturbation, Other, Self-Discovery, Sexual Fantasy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-04
Updated: 2018-05-04
Packaged: 2019-05-02 00:57:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,498
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14533206
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LiterateGamer/pseuds/LiterateGamer
Summary: Thoughts of Akira and overwhelming stress send Makoto Niijima into a wanton haze.





	A Queen's Desire.

An exasperated groan seeped out of Makoto Niijima as she fell against her comforter. Her head absolutely killing her, a strong throb that she tried to soothe with dainty fingertips, softly brushing along the sides of her forehead. The reason for her discomfort resounded downstairs, clicking of heels and a smack of wood against frame as the front door shut closed. The echo rebounded through her head, a wince of pain at the commotion. Her eyes stung, a sudden stroke of sadness overwhelming her form. She grit her teeth, holding back those desperate tears as she pawed her nightstand for her phone. A small buzz and a little ringtone notified her to a message.

A message to her, this late at night?

She turned the screen on, eyes wandering to its' glow. She grasped her Buchimaru-kun plushie, squeezing it in her hand as she studied the contents of the message. The message, headed by a familiar face, black and red contrasted by white text. It was him. She felt a slight twist in her gut, a sudden wave of anxiety that pounced on her like a cat would unto an unsuspecting mouse. Her heartbeat rose in speed, and she further squeezed the poor little plushie, reading the text.

-Goodnight, Makoto. Sweet dreams.  
-Goodnight, Akira. Sleep well.

 

She felt another sting. Frankly, this wasn't an extraordinary occurrence. Akira had been sending her little messages for the better part of the month, ever since they began their "research", to help her become more like a normal high schooler. So far, they'd gone on a little adventure all on their own, as they'd found out one of the Academy's students was working on a Maid-Café, and afterwards began dating a rather shifty host. Overall, they were almost at the end of their little game to catch the man red-handed, and they'd had to pose as a couple to do so. And, Makoto had to be true to herself, she adored the idea. From the beginning, she'd been a bit apprehensive of the idea, but soon, she had become very fond of it.

And the main catalyst that turned that fondness into a desire, was Akira's very own actions.

 

They were at the student council room. She had called him in, a quick meeting to discuss how Eiko was doing, her thoughts on the matter. She'd brought up the subject, and she had questioned if they'd pull the couple charade off. And, looking back on it, and knowing her leader for as long as she did, she was rather dumb for doing so. Within a mere second, he had taken her up on her challenge, a devilish smirk upon his lips as he closed the distance between them, pulling her body against his by the waist, his form lowering to meet her, steely eyes focused squarely upon her melting crimson. She could feel the flush at her cheeks, the way her body seized and relaxed. Could feel the hot moisture of his breath against her own, the way his body smelt. Up close, with his arms holding her in place, she couldn't help but close her eyes, her chin up towards him, her mouth slightly open in tempting anticipation.

Until he drew back, a knowing, teasing chuckle from his throat as she nearly fell against the whiteboard behind her. Her breath had hitched considerably, a measly, shuddering pant as her whole body tried to acclimate to this new feeling. Scarlet locked against Platinum once more, and something in those pools of silver awakened a dormant sensation in her. An emotion that she thought she would not yet have, that she knew she should not yet have. But right it felt, and as she stilled her ever-beating heart, her shaking voice called out.

"N-Not fair in the slightest."

"Well, do I make a good impression?" His voice was as sharp as his eyes, a cool breeze of manly baritone that melted even the most Irritable Shadow's heart. She let out a tiny sigh, closing her eyes momentarily as she regained her composure. Straightening her back, she looked towards him with a determined gaze and a sweetened smile.

"You did very well. It might just work."

 

Makoto gave a sudden gasp, a realization that crashed through her as she was brought back to reality, hot and rather bothered. Her hands were placed in rather compromising positions, with her right placed tightly above her breast, grasping it while her left curled against her inner thigh. She let out a tiny sigh, the heat and warmth of her cheeks a new reminder of her situation. A little bit of shame creeping into the corners of her mind, exacerbated when her hands moved closer to herself. She couldn't help it, the mere thought of him bothered her nowadays, and remembering him like that, remembering his smell, his form...

It drove her into lengths she would've found reprehensible just a few months ago. Emotions that she would've never had. And now, with her hand rubbing at her sensitive inner thigh, and her fingers slowly trailing along the curves of her breasts... She wasn't so sure what was right, what was wrong, or even what was acceptable. And for a moment, she let go. For a moment, she let herself be what she needed, what she desired right now.

Her body writhed against the comforter, a shiver running down her spine as she softly kneaded and manipulated her chest. Her fingers experimented with herself over the white cotton of her favorite outfit, the thin fabric allowing her to feel the rather dull patterns of her simple bra. But it wasn't enough. Neither was the feeling she got through her sleek black pants, no matter how pleasantly stimulating the shocks of sensitive skin were. She wanted more, more than just a taste of the pleasure, of the carnal need that her body had been denied of for too long.

Quickly, she sat up on the bed, a quick motion ridding her of the clothing she wore, the sudden desperation surprising even herself, that growing need showing itself once more when she ran her hands across her own form. She was still covered with her undergarments, the last bastion of hope against the ever encroaching storm of need. They were rather drab, white and plain in design, perhaps too fitting for the reserved honor student. She laid back against the bed, the lukewarm air of summer striking against her pale skin. She took a soft, anxious breath, her whole body shaking in nervous anticipation. She began with her thighs, slowly rubbing the outside of her muscles, working her hands up the hem of her panties, slipping against her skin as she drifted upwards her hips, against her abdomen.

Trailing little circles on her stomach, she found herself giving out little gasps of pleasure, content sigh after content sigh denoting of her good work. At any other time, in any other situation, these insignificant touches would’ve meant nothing to the Queen, but now, they were like little sparks, small flares that shot up her system, sending her thighs together and her back to arch.

Hands snaked up to her brassiere, a quick tug up revealing the form of her perky, supple breasts. Wonderful, modest pale orbs topped by flashy, erect pink nipples. She quickly took them unto her hands, pinching at her peaks, sending moans out her throat, echoing in the darkness of her room. Rolling down her side, biting her lip, Makoto kept basking in her own form, her body curling, hips rolling gently with each particular pinch, with each stroke of pleasure.

She imagined his hands, warm and rather soft for a guy who worked so hard on himself, with only light calluses on his palm from the harsh training he sometimes did. She imagined those hands groping at her form, grasping at her hips and breasts with a degree of need, of want. The idea itself made her whimper, a light struggle as her thighs rubbed against each other, dampening the contents of her panties more than they already were. How? How did he have so much power over her thoughts, over her emotions? How is it that the mere memory of deodorant mixed with his natural musk sent her into a wave of raw sensation? And why did the thought of his hands all over her form turn her into such a mewling mess?

She pinched her left nipple harshly, a quick image of a devilish smirk enclosing itself around the bud, a quick yelp from her lips as her right hand shot towards her underwear. She felt her mound through the encasing of smooth cloth, the panties she wore now a constant reminder of her arousal, the moist, wet feeling of sticky fabric against her fingers all the more taboo to the Shujin prez. She ran two fingers across her covered lips, rubbing little circles around her clit, the sensitive bundle of nerves sending yet another squeal from her lips. She was already this hot, this needy. Rubbing herself at a moderate pace, as her hand alternated between each nipple, over and over and over again.

And then she felt it. The first wave, a sudden starry sky in front of her eyes as her legs seized, pulling up and shaking uncontrollably as she put her finger to her lips. She bit down harshly, trying to cover the pitiful moans and mewls of an orgasm, an upstart of love juices trickling from her garments to the bed. Cleaning would have to come later, in secret. But for now, such matters were of trivial nature. Her hips thrust back and forth, as a sudden, burning fire burst into her loins. Her hand shot into her panties, fingers sliding across her slick mound before she inserted two into herself.

A moan, hot and heavy from her sudden action, a drawl of melodic tone culminating in an exasperated exhale of breath. She thrust her fingers into herself, her other hand quickly and roughly grabbing unto her chest once more, fingers pumping in and out, the slick, squelching sounds of her quim quickly filling the room alongside her little moans. She bit the pillow as a particular sweet-spot was hit, angling her fingers into it, her newfound passion sending both fear and agitation throughout her mind. Why was she acting like this? Why was she doing this?

Why did she want him doing this to her?

She imagined it all. Akira grasping her against the bed, his lean, toned body slick with sweat, the naturally alluring smell of his musk engrossing her mind. She imagined his fingers inside of her, harshly pounding her pussy into submission, a submission that only he could get.

“A-Akira… Akira, please~!”

She came again, sentence cut in another intense strike. Yet she didn’t stop. She needed so much more, she needed to feel like it was him. Like he was with her, loving her, wanting her, using her. Her fingers thrust into her even as she rode the highs of lust, offering no respite, for she desired none. She imagined him behind her as she rolled onto her knees, the hand that was so roughly groping her breast now placed against her teeth, the outer edge of her delicate thumb bit down harshly as she kept _fucking_ herself _._

 

“I need it, I need it so badly!”

 

Her cheeks flushed with scarlet blood, a wave of embarrassment and voyeuristic joy engulfing her, temporarily overpowering the sparks of sinful greed from her needy cunt, still the victim of her merciless finger. Those eyes, that smile, that smell… His muscles, his body, his form…

She popped her thumb into her mouth, suckling greedily unto it, tongue swirling in the motions as she imagined his own fingers entering her. She knew enough about sex, had read so many ero-manga and educational sex books for research and curious satisfaction, and yet the thought of trying out the real, tactile thing excited her more than any incredibly well drawn manga ever could. The thought of Akira behind her, grasping her hips, readying her for taking, that thought alone was enough.

Another thought grazed her hazed mind. What would he be like? She had never seen his body bare. She’d caught glimpses of it, at school. Had felt it first hand, on that fateful encounter. And from the few scraps and bits of info she had experienced, he was perfect. Toned, lean, strong. He could easily have carried her, could easily overpower her. And this strength showed in their outings to the Metaverse. His cocky form, his unending confidence, both in the physical and cognitive world, it all drew her absolutely wild. And she could just imagine what he was like, she could just imagine what he would feel like, inside of her.

  

“Akira, please… I want it, I need it… I need you, please, fuck me, fuck me, fuck me!”

 

She bit her thumb, a shrill, high-pitched groan as her body seized for the third and final time, her folds clenching tightly around her invading fingers, her juices spilling into her hands, dripping down her thighs. She gasped for air, attempts that seemed to be in vain as her body swayed and panicked from the aftershocks. She felt like she had been hit with Zio, like every single cell, nerve, and neuron in her was simultaneously crying out in pleasure. Her mind halted completely, mouth clamped against her thumb, saliva coating her pillow, tears forming and streaming down her cheeks.

After a minute or so, it began to stop, and she slowly withdrew, still gasping and wincing with every little move. Her fingers were drenched, her very heart spent as she rolled unto her side, and suckled on the previously offending digits with want. She let go of her inhibitions, sighing contently, closing her tired eyes as she let herself float in the river she’d created.

Playful, careful strokes against her form, all ending when she finally noticed the wetness that now seeped into the sheets, into the pillow, and into her white panties.

She gave a final, satisfied sigh, staring longingly towards her phone before shaking her mind into function once more, heart once again skipping at the thought of him.

“Akira…”

She reached to her phone, cradling it into her hands as she slipped into the messy covers. She’d do the cleaning in the morning, after her sister had gone.

Looking over the chat logs, she smiled, and wrote a message.

-I’ve finished some student council work, and I’ve got the rest of the day tomorrow. I think it’s time to expose that host once and for all, if it’s alright with you.

She gave a soft, shaky breath… And hit send.

And as she tiredly, and anxiously weighed the stupidity of her actions, she received a response.

-Let’s do it.

A giddy smile, a tired hum, and a slow, peaceful drift to sleep.

Tomorrow would be a great day.


End file.
